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“I’m doing it again,” Beck muttered as he scrambled to get his
weight off his wife. He was pinning her down against the cold, hard
floor without even a blanket to warm her. His hands shook as he
pushed himself up. He got off her and sat back.
“What’s wrong, Beck?” She sounded soft and vulnerable.
She didn’t just sound vulnerable, Beck told himself sternly. She
was vulnerable.
“Beck?” He heard the uncertainty in her voice as he shoved his
hands through his hair and desperately attempted to get himself under
control.
“Everything is fine, Meg,” he managed. He took a deep breath and
banished his own needs to the Hell plane. “Why don’t you go to bed?
You can sleep with Cian.”
She got to her knees. The look on her face quickly turned to
indignation. Her hands fisted in the fabric of the shirt she was
wearing. “I don’t want to sleep with Cian. I want to sleep with my
husband.”
“He is your husband,” Beck pointed out harshly. And he won’t
hurt you.
“This is ridiculous.” Meg huffed as she straightened her clothes
and leaned toward him. “I want you, Beck. I want all of you. I want
the real you. I don’t want you to politely ask if you can make love to
me. Here’s the deal—I’m giving you permission. Take me. Bend me
over, turn me around, spank my ass until it’s red. As long as you fuck
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me afterward, I’ll be happy. I won’t break, Beck. I’ll love it. I’m a
sub. I want you to take control during sex. You don’t have any trouble
taking control the rest of the time. Why can’t you do it in the one
place where it’s bound to please me? And speaking of the word
